


She wishes she was dead

by Ayahne



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Complete, Desmond Feels, Gen, I'm tagging it, So yeah, i have SO MANY DESMOND FEELS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 15:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12728949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayahne/pseuds/Ayahne
Summary: Desmond was really different from the other kids as a child.More spirited.He asked questions, he doubted. He felt different, so he yearned for normality.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Adel Mortescryche (Mortescryche)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mortescryche/gifts).



> A big, big thanks to Adel for putting the idea of publishing this thing ! I don't think I'd have dared without you, so, yeah, since this was basically written to YOU, it's a gift !
> 
> So, this was written over Tumblr IM system while complaining of a bad case of Desmond feels with Adelmortescryche (who is a super fanfiction writer, mostly KHS and YOI, you should check her things out)
> 
> Please excuse mistakes or kindly point them to me ; English is not my mother tongue and I rather suck at it. I did my best.
> 
> Find me making art and saying ridiculous things on tumblr at http://ayahne.tumblr.com !
> 
> I hope you'll like it !

Desmond was really different from the other kids as a child.

More spirited.

He asked questions, he _doubted_. He felt different, so he yearned for normality.

The Templar plot was not conclusive for a more normal life. A life where he would be loved, a life he could live and be happy. So when he could, he ran.

He tried to block his mother screams (but to the day of his death they still haunted him) as he ran through the trees, on the damp dirt of the forest ; he ran beside the road, and far, far into the city. When, finally, he stopped, he curled on a bench a felt hope.

He shouldn't have.

As he will learn later, hope is the worst poison. Desmond stayed homeless for a long while. He learned the ways of the streets ; to pickpocket, to bargain, to sell everything that wasn't vital, innocence included. He didn't find the love he searched for, nor the normalcy he had dreamed about.

The owner of the Bad Weather finds him when he's 18. She frowns, _commands_ him to follow her. He does, because he's got nothing left to lose. She'll teach him how to mix spirits, how to make cocktails, how to recognize good wine by scent and costly alcohol by their color. She'll teach him to break bar fights, to make friends with the waitresses and the other barmaid (her girlfriend, a sweet butch giant that talks in low tones and pat him on the head).

He starts to be happy, for the first time in a long, long, long time.

He has his normalcy now. He's got _love_.

But Abstergo happen.

They break everything. The bar, his hopes, his dreams.

Then it's suffering in the Animus, loosing slowly his mind and the battle against the hallucinations, not trusting his new teammates, and bitterly regretting the Bad Weather.

There's the betrayal, there's his dad, and he thinks hard about Jenna and Charlène, because he's gotta stay calm (but he can't, cause the voices in his head they SCREAM-)

And then, the choice.

An inhumane choice.

That's a choice for him. It's been a long time since he felt human. And maybe in the afterlife, at least, he'll find _peace_.

And the worst thing is... He knows.

He knows he's dying to be forgotten, that is life was basically _meaningless_.

That he was born to die.

That what was between his birth and his death... Was of literally no importance whatsoever.

 

(But maybe one day, _one day_ , he'll know that Jenna searched for him for weeks, patrolling the streets with a worried scowl, getting into junkie spots with as much hope as dread, and that she spend an hour crying on Charlène's shoulder on the six month mark of is disappearance : maybe he'll know that Charlène, sometimes, turn to point him a funny client to only be greeted by the void beside her. Maybe he'll know that she contacted every contact she still have left of her years in the army, to no avail. Maybe he'll know that both women takes flowers to the bench where Jenna found him, every year without fail. Maybe he'll know that the waitress he helped get out of a abusive situation gave his name to her kid ; that another one painted a portrait that Jenna hung in an honor place at the bar ; that every new girl know the name of the stray they housed, for a few years, that would stick for them and punch grabby men. Maybe he'll know, one day.)

 

And one day, the three-men assassin team gets back to NY, because they have to see someone there, they have to tell _someone_ that Desmond is dead. And Rebecca stops dead in front of a bar-club, making the two other men worry, and she points at the name, making William twist his mouth and Shaun drop his eyes. Her own are wet, she's supplicating, so they get in.

They're greeted by a smiling waitress, and she asks them if they prefer a table or the bar. They point to the bar, and she smiles one last time before leaving for another customer. The barmaid is tall, taller than all of them, taller than anyone in here ; she's muscled, she's got scars, but her eyes are soft and her voice is low and sweet. She twirls the bottle around, exactly like Desmond did, and suddenly Rebecca gasps, because she catches sight of Desmond portrait, and the Desmond Wall, really, was all the employees pinned memorabilia ; blurry selfies, some polaroids, employee of the month and yearly staff photos, ribbons, stolen moment and funny memories, and Desmond is smiling, wide and so obviously _happy_ , so settled, that Rebecca nearly cries right here and then. Shaun's jaw painfully tightens, because they know, they all know now, how terrible what happened is ; how unhappy Desmond had been with them ; how miserable he had been. William's eyes are traveling between two photos ; One where the giantess is adoringly staring at a redheaded frowning woman, who is trying very hard to not lose her scowl while Desmond, obviously trying to reign in a laugh, is holding the most extravagant and flashy bouquet of flowers in his hands. In the background, the waitresses are giggling with colored gifts in their hand ; the musicians, holding a cake, are visibly shaking with laughter. The mirth in Desmond's eyes makes him seems more alive on the glossy paper than he was ghosting the warehouse.

The photo beside it is the two women, again, the big one's head comfortably resting again her partner's shoulder ; and Desmond is splayed across both their laps, sleeping, peaceful, happy, trusting ; _everything_ he wasn't with them.


	2. Adélaïde Miles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts of a mother.

 

Adélaïde Miles is a no-nonsense woman, whose entire life rests on certitudes.

She is an Assassin, and lives by the Creed.

She is a _competent_ woman.

American people need more common sense.

She loves her husband.

She loves her son.

She loves him from the moment he is born, a perfect, perfect boy ; with her skin tone (hers, and her mother's) and William's eyes ; her heart gets snatched by his tiny hands slowly curling around hers : and she knows, right here and there, that she will protect this child no matter the cost.

Desmond is a marvel of a child, growing up. He is clever, maybe too much. He learns fast. Too fast. He asks questions. Too much of them. Desmond is like her ; a free mind, an out of the box thinker ; and William doesn't _understand_. She can see that Desmond is growing resentful of his father, of what he asks of him (more, more, always _more_ than the others, be better, _you're my son damn it-_ ) and she tries to soothe things out when she's here... but she can't be there all the time.

One day, she wakes up to realize that Desmond looks at her in the same distasteful way he looks at his dad, and her heart, her certitudes, breaks. He'll run away a few hours later, with nothing else than the thin clothes he's got on his back, and she'll scream and run to try to catch him, but she won't make it. She can't make it. William trained him too well. Too much. He's running so _fast_ , so _far_ , and she's screaming, and he's not even turning back, and she knows it, he's going to die, her child is going to die, what did she do, what did she do to deserve this, what did _Desmond_ do to deserve this-

Adélaïde Miles is a no-nonsense woman, whose entire life rest in shambles, broken before her.

She is a murderer, and don't know why anymore.

She is a _useless_ mother.

Assassins need more love in their life.

She can't stand to see her husband.

She loves her son.

She misses him.

One day, she gets a phone call. It's William, and he tells her to meet him in New-York. She refuses. He says the magic word. He says "Desmond". She comes to him. He's waiting in the train station, his eyes running away from hers, his mouth a fine, twisted line, and she realizes what must have happened, and she wails, she screams in panicked terror, in agony, reality hitting her faster and harder than the train might have done if she had jumped on the tracks at this exact moment.

She cries.

Her husband tries to touch her, to comfort her, and she transforms into a harpy ; she screams some more, try to bite him, wants to make him bleed with the only power of her nails, she wants... she wants...

She wants her son.

She wants her son to be alive.

She wants to have been a better mother, one Desmond could have come see with his worries, one he could have complained about William unfair comportment to, knowing she would act on it, one that would have been present, one that wouldn't have gone everywhere in the world leaving him in a place he came to loathe, with people he despised, one he could have contacted after escaping, one who could have been his confident, one who could have understood him, one who could have saved him, one who would have been better, one who would have loved better... One who could have kept her son from dying.

Adélaïde Miles is a no-nonsense woman, whose entire life is meaningless.

She is nothing, and doesn't want to live.

She isn't a mother anymore.

Desmond needed more in his life.

She wishes her husband had died.

She doesn't have a son.

She wishes she were dead.


End file.
